


Deadline

by gyngersnap



Series: Deadline [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak is the smartest idiot, Finals Week is a real killer amirite, Grim reaper au, M/M, and Richie wears a blazer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyngersnap/pseuds/gyngersnap
Summary: Finals Week is hitting Eddie hard, but he's determined to ace his exam or die trying. The Grim Reaper is willing to bet which comes first.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Deadline [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566904
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Deadline

Eddie probably lost his mind somewhere between pages 87 and 88 of his Anatomy textbook. For the last two weeks, he’d done almost nothing other than study and eat (if he had a hand free) in preparation for his final exam tomorrow morning. His phone was kept on Do Not Disturb, noise-cancelling headphones hung around his neck in case of rowdy neighbors, and his room had become an organized mess of scattered notecards and propped open color-coordinated notebooks. Absolutely nothing, he decided, was going to get in his way of acing this test. 

Bill tried teasing him for taking it too seriously, but English-Major-Bill didn’t have an exam that could make or break his grade, make or break his _future._ He _needs_ that A if he doesn’t want to fail the class, and if two weeks of quarantining himself with only his highlighters to keep him company made getting that grade possible, then he’ll do it.

Flipping to the next page of his textbook, he tries to ignore the incessant twitching of his left eye. Sleep was one of the first things to get pushed onto the backburner, and he was going on his third day without sleep. In an attempt to ward off the mental fog and dropping eyelids, Eddie drags his coffee mug to his lips, forcing down the wicked concoction of Mountain Dew, three espresso shots, two 5 Hour Energy, and one can of something in Spanish that clearly has the word “caffeinated” plastered up the side all stirred with a candy bar made with coffee beans. It tastes like the bottom of a shoe and he swears he could hear colors for a few seconds after his first sip, but that caffeine cocktail is all that’s keeping him from crashing. 

_Focus, Eddie_ he thinks, chastising himself for nearly letting his eyelids flutter shut. _Alright,_ _the sinoatrial node works as the—_

**_creak._ **

Eddie’s head snaps up, nearly blacking out from how quickly he turns towards his closet. It sounded like the noise came from behind the shut double doors, almost too subtle for him to have noticed if his hyperaware senses weren’t working on overdrive. 

_Probably just the walls settling, or something_ he decides, rolling his eyes at himself for reacting so hastily. He practically jumped out of his skin at just the smallest of creaks, maybe he should—

**_THUMP._ **

One of the closet doors swings open, clattering into the wall. The momentum sends some of his notecards fluttering to the floor, some falling beneath his dresser. Nothing else moves. 

Eddie tilts his head, waiting for something else to happen. He probably should be more concerned that his closet door just flew open by itself, but in all honesty he’s too hyped up on artificial sugars and caffeine to feel any emotion other than irritation that his notecards are now out of order all over his floor. 

Sharply sighing, Eddie turns back to his textbook. “Not today, Satan.”

“Aw shit, well how about tomorrow?”

“ _What the--?!”_ Eddie shrieks, falling out of his chair and hitting the floor face-first. His heart possibly literally stops from the sudden voice behind him, and the sugar rushing through his veins does nothing to calm his adrenaline rush. Breathing hard, he pushes himself over, expecting a serial killer to be waiting with a weapon drawn.

He’s not sure if he’s worse off from who he actually sees.

A boy who can’t be that far off in age from him sits on his bed, arms lazily slung behind his head and sneaker-clad feet mindlessly on his _formerly clean_ comforter. Pale as a ghost but eyes and hair dark as night, there’s something charming and dangerous about the amused quirk of his grin. The longer Eddie looks at him, the more this stranger feels… _wrong._ Like a wolf in Converse and an oversized blazer. 

Eddie suddenly realizes he’s just been staring, and he still has no idea how this stranger got in his locked window or door. He should probably say something that won’t provoke this guy—

“Who the fuck are you?” Eddie demands, mouth moving faster than his common sense. “And how’d you get in here?”

“Closet,” the boy answers, nodding towards the closet as if that made some sort of sense. “Now, back to business. You said today wouldn’t work, how about tomorrow? Schedule clear? I’m a very busy man, Eddie.”

Eddie stumbles over his words, unsure if he should be angry or afraid over this intruder and totally at a loss at what he’s talking about. Thoughts racing in double time, he tries to think back to what he said before the boy showed up: _my notecards fell on the floor, I glared at the closet, and I said—_ “You’re _Satan_?”

The possibly-Death-incarnate boy laughs, a low noise that Eddie thinks sounds positively predatory despite the delighted look on his face. “Nah, I’m not the boss, just the delivery boy. The UPS of death. Grim Reaper, at your service.” He reaches up, flicking the ridiculous black rimmed chauffeur hat on his head. “Get it?”

Eddie should probably be afraid. A supposed maybe-deity is in his room, after all. This probably isn’t great for him. But yet all he feels is apathy, incredulously squinting at the lame hat. “That looks dumb.”

“Does not!” the Reaper protests, frowning as he dramatically throws out his arms. “It’s clever, and you’re a killjoy.” He pulls out a little black notebook from his blazer pocket, flipping to a bookmarked page. “No wonder boss had me come get you, you’re practically already dead inside.”

Eddie snaps to attention at that, scrambling to his feet much too fast and nearly loses balance. The Reaper laughs again at Eddie’s dazed expression and his hands gripping his chair like a vice--partially to still his dizzy vision from getting up too fast. “Wait, you’re here to kill me?”

“I prefer the term _escort,”_ he emphasizes, shifting as he makes himself more comfortable on Eddie’s bed. “And what did you think I was here for? To watch you study biology notes?”

“It’s anatomy,” Eddie corrects under his breath, carefully leaning down to gather up his dropped notecards. He shuffles them around until they’re in order, trying to distract himself from what’s happening. 

It doesn’t quite process; the realization that he’s supposedly about to die. Maybe it’s the fact that he can’t even feel his toes, or maybe it’s how unbelievable this all is. This has to be a practical joke, right? Anyone can just waltz into his room claiming they’re the Grim Reaper, even despite the fact that he swore he was locked in. 

Eddie huffs, crossing his arms in defiance. “You’re one of Bill’s friends, then? They thought it’d be funny to prank me knowing how stressed I am, right?”

The self-proclaimed ‘Reaper’ turns his head to look at Eddie straight on, effectively sending a shiver down Eddie’s spine. “Don’t know who Bill is, but if this was his idea of a prank, then I think you have a shitty friend.”

 _No, no no. This can’t be real._ Eddie swallows hard, shaking his head in disbelief to ward off the creeping gullibility. “Prove it.”

The Reaper smirks darkly. “Prove what?”

“That you’re some death god or whatever.”

The boy considers him for a moment, giving him a once over that feels excruciatingly invasive for some reason, as if he was looking right through him. But then he’s reaching an arm out towards Eddie’s nightstand, still staring at Eddie as he pinches one of the stalks of a bamboo plant. 

As if by magic, Eddie watches in horrified awe as the plant browns and shrivels beneath the boy’s fingertips, crumbling into the dirt as he pulls away and settles his hand back behind his head. Eddie looks back and forth between his former plant and the boy enough times to warrant whiplash. He might be sick, and not from the caffeine cocktail.

“Not a death god,” the boy says airily, eyes tracing the lines of Eddie’s ceiling. “Just an escort.”

_Shit._

“Oh,” Eddie whispers. Realistically, he should probably run or call for help, but he has a feeling it’d be pointless. He probably wouldn’t get very far.

Collapsing into his desk chair, Eddie emptily stares down at his now useless notecards he spent so much time on. “I guess all this studying was for nothing.”

Another laugh from the Reaper, and this time it sounds suspiciously cruel. “You’re dying _because_ of your studying. For someone slaving over anatomy notes, I’d think you would have known better than to drink that poison you call a drink.” 

Eddie groans, throwing the notecards onto his desk. “I _know,_ I just…I need to ace this exam to pass. Or, at least I needed to. I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

The Reaper sits up slow, all traces of his damned smile gone. “What did you want to do? With your life, I mean.”

The response is automatic, more than used to everyone asking him that same question every time he visits home: “Be a doctor. Or a nurse, maybe. Something in the medical field. It’s what I’m good at, and I like figuring out how it all works. The human body is insane when you take it in. Cells dividing and creating every second, organs working independent of each other. The body works so hard to keep you alive, you know?” He shoves his textbook off his desk and into the trashcan. “But I guess it only works as a safety net for so long.”

It’s stupid, really. Terribly ironic and stupid that he’d accidentally kill himself while studying how to keep others alive. And the worst part of it all might be that he’s already resigned to his death. He tries not to think about how good he’s taking it. That might be more terrifying than death itself. 

“Never thought about it that way.”

Eddie looks over, nearly forgetting the Reaper’s presence until he spoke. “What?”

“The body,” he explains, thumping a hand onto his chest for emphasis. “I never really think about it, too busy taking away the souls.”

Eddie cringes at the thought, knowing that he’ll be in that position any minute now. There’s never been any medical proof of a soul, so he has no idea how painful it might be to dig it out. “Oh.”

“We’re the opposite, y’know,” the Reaper continues, his grin coming back as he tilts his head to the side. “You want to give life, I want to take it away. Everything and everyone I touch dies.”

“I keep you in business,” Eddie mutters, startled when the Reaper starts laughing. Normally, this gruesome stranger is exactly the kind of person he’d avoid like the plague. Pun intended. Much too loud, and seemingly unsympathetic. But for whatever reason, maybe some kind of magic, he’s not too bothered by him. _Probably just out of desperation to keep the conversation going._ The longer they talk, the longer Eddie postpones the inevitable. “So, uh…Reaper.”

“Call me Richie.”

“Richie?”

“Yeah, that was my name when I was alive.”

“You were alive?”

“Mhm.” He pulls his arms from behind his head, gingerly tracing the lines of the palm of his right hand. His eyes slowly look up to Eddie, still terrifyingly hypnotic in their blackness, but softer now. “But that’s a story for another time,” he sighs, rising up to his feet.

Eddie cringes, knowing his time has come. But Richie walks past him, leaning against his closet door and winking down at him.

“Wait…” Eddie tries to put the pieces together. “What’s going on?”

“Listen, enough of the drinks, alright? Get some sleep, you’re killing yourself.” 

“But...my test?” Even after knowing he’s drunk himself onto death row, the anxiety of failing is at the top of his list of concerns.

Richie smiles sadly, puffing out a snort of a laugh. “You’ll ace it, don’t worry.”

“You’re psychic too?”

“Nah.” Richie grins, readjusting his hat with a flourish. “Don’t need to be psychic to know that.”

And then Richie’s halfway back into the closet, ready to leave Eddie behind with a million questions still left to be answered. If he lets him just disappear, he knows he’ll never be able to concentrate on getting back to studying. Especially sans his poison.

So maybe that’s why he’s suddenly on his feet and calling out, “Wait!”, a jumble of questions ready to burst out of him as he reaches for Richie. _I thought I was dying? How did you stop it? When am I going to die?_

Richie’s eyes widen as he stumbles away, just barely dodging Eddie as he trips over his feet. His back hits the closet door, hands flying out for balance. One of his hands just barely brushes over Eddie’s wrist amidst the flailing.

At first, Eddie feels nothing. But then the burning starts, singing the spot where Richie touched him as if someone was putting out a cigarette against his skin. He watches in horror as the quarter-sized spot on his wrist darkens into a sickly purplish shade. A ragged gasp of pain slips past his lips. He takes a hesitant step back, pinning Richie to the spot with a look of accusation.

“ _Shit_ ,” Richie breathes out, eyes still wide as the moon. They flick up to Eddie’s face. “Hey, look at me, I promise you’ll be okay, alright?” He lifts his hands as if to reassuringly touch Eddie’s arm, flinching as he thinks better of it and tucks his hands into his pockets. “That won’t spread or anything, I promise. Just trust me.”

Eddie touches the dark spot. It feels cold, and it isn’t elastic anymore, sagging under the imprint. “What...what did you _do_ to me?”

Richie’s mouth opens and closes, eyes going from Eddie’s face to the spot in a frenzied cycle. His aloof personality has slipped away, replaced by something more... _human_. 

And Richie seems to notice it too, because he gives his head a quick shake, gives Eddie a quick salute, and mutters, “Get some sleep,” with an attempt at a grin as he slams the closet doors shut behind him. 

Eddie rips them back open, but only his clothes fill the space. All he’s left with is a slight throbbing in his wrist that lessens by the second, and the memory of a Reaper that may have been his brain hallucinating. Either way, it was time to pour out the drink still waiting for him back on his desk.

And maybe buy a new bamboo plant.

Eddie shuts the closet, eyeing it warily. His feet take him past his desk and all his scattered notes. Pushing the comforter back, Eddie collapses into bed, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion he’d been putting off weigh down on him. If it really was just a hallucination, it was probably his common sense telling him to shut it down. He’d spent enough time memorizing that textbook cover to cover. If he wasn’t rested, it would be all for naught.

As his eyes finally, _mercifully_ shut, he replays his notes like a lullaby. _The heart’s left--no, right atrium pumps oxygen-poor blood to the right ventricle through the tricuspid valve, the right ventricle pumps it to the lungs through the pulmonary valve, and the Grim Reaper let me live._

**Author's Note:**

> (Yes, there's going to be a few parts! How many? More than one.)


End file.
